Pity
by DasMervin
Summary: Lucy Barker was in need of pity. And it was a pity that Mrs. Lovett had none to spare.


**Title: Pity**

**Rating: PG-13**

**Summary: Lucy Barker was in need of pity. And it was a pity that Mrs. Lovett had none to spare.**

**Author's Notes: This is a rather disjointed fic, flashes of what may have happened in the few months after Benjamin Barker was shipped off to Devil's Island, told from Mrs. Lovett's POV.**

* * *

The day was very bright—nary a cloud to be seen, and a light breeze twisted upon the air like ribbon, fluttering hair and disturbing bonnets. The sun warmed the people below it, and the clear, blue sky offered a beautiful view for young couples and families taking advantage of the weather and drifting away from the city, preferring to escape to the countryside for a while. 

It was mockery, it was. Pure mockery.

Mrs. Lovett pressed her hat against her head again as a gust swept past her, rustling her skirts. She now wished she hadn't bothered with the thing, because what did proprieties matter at this point? She had to get to the dock, and the gawkers there wouldn't give a damn what hat she wore or what dress she'd adorned. And she didn't really care, either, for she would be one of those gawkers, hiding behind the jeering crowd that would have invariably gathered. Her tenant had already left hours ago, making her miserable way down to the same location, and Mrs. Lovett felt that familiar jealousy creep up her spine—wives of the prisoners were always granted a final goodbye to their convicted husbands. One final time to touch them and kiss them through bars.

Some part of her had a niggling guilt—she was supposed to be watching little Johanna. Lucy had tearfully requested that of her, to watch their daughter while she went down to the jail to say farewell to her husband—more likely to beg for his release, no doubt. Lucy Carrington would do such nonsense, to beg and plead with people who didn't care instead of taking advantage of the moment. Stupid girl.

She turned down the side street, brushing impatiently past two wretched beggars as she did. The barges that took convicts to their fates always left on time, and she could not afford to be late. She'd taken too much time arguing with herself whether or not it was right to leave Johanna alone in her crib while she, Mrs. Lovett, ran down to watch the child's father be shipped away to Australia and could not pause for a moment.

By the time Mrs. Lovett reached the dock, it was already crowded, already buzzing with talk and jeering. The prisoners were being loaded—Mrs. Lovett prayed she hadn't missed him.

She ducked down behind two larger men, who were catcalling at the shackled prisoners. They were all dressed alike, their original clothes already stripped from them and sold to help pay for their journey. She struggled to discern them all, a difficult feat to achieve as she was also trying to hide in case Lucy was amongst the onlookers (which would invariably be true, she knew). They all looked so alike, the prisoners, but surely she would be able to see the man she loved, surely she would be able to tell who he was…after all, she'd traced the features of his face countless times with her eyes, and it had only been a couple of weeks since he'd been arrested and convicted, surely he hadn't changed in appearance too much—

_There_. Her heart leapt and then crashed—oh, her dearest Benjamin. How _terrible_ he looked. He looked so much smaller compared to the others, and she hated seeing him chained like he was. He was already only five from the front—five men away from being shuttled onto the barge and gone from her forever. He'd already suffered from his prison sentence—a deep, black stain marred his face, his left eye swollen almost shut. She damned whoever had dared do such a crime, damned them to the blackest hell, and wished she could go to him and put a cold rag on him and tell him everything would be all right. She watched him rub at his wrists, already red and raw from the tight shackles binding him to his fellow inmates. He looked so miserable, so…she wanted to call to him, to tell him that she was here, that she would wait for him—

"Benjamin!" Mrs. Lovett twisted suddenly towards the sound of that voice before quickly ducking and hiding. She heard the crowd starting to laugh, and heard a commotion some distance away near where the guards were flanking the entrance to the dock, keeping the public away from the prisoners. She peeked over the shoulders of the men in front of her and easily spotted that fool Lucy. She was being held back by two guards, her face obviously tear streaked even from this distance, her hands reaching pitifully out towards her husband. "Benjamin!" she screamed, twisting suddenly at the crowd. "Have you no mercy?!"

The crowd jeered at her. A strangled sob bubbled up from her throat. "Benjamin—" She was cut off, shoved forcefully back by the men holding her. Mrs. Lovett flicked her eyes towards the man in question—he'd turned, and sorrow and furious jealousy filled her heart at the sight of how very pained he look. His mouth opened, and Mrs. Lovett knew, knew he was about to call out to her, to say his wife's name, but then he was shoved forward and onto the barge, and within seconds, he'd disappeared.

Her heart nearly stopped. Benjamin was gone.

Gone.

She'd sworn she wouldn't cry when it happened. She would not be weak and pathetic like Lucy Carrington, that delicate little flower petal of a woman. She hadn't cried when her husband had died, she hadn't cried when her daughter had been born dead, she hadn't cried when she'd been told attempting to have another child would kill her. She hadn't cried, and she would not cry now.

She bit down on her hand, and cursed everything in existence as her eyes prickled, and she turned away, and all but ran home, not watching the rest of the prisoners be prodded forth, not watching the barge cast off and make its slow, torturous way to the deepest, blackest hell of Devil's Island, the place well revered for eating men alive before spitting out their bones.

By the time Lucy Carrington had staggered back home, still sobbing, Mrs. Lovett had gathered herself nicely, her dampened hanky hidden away. She nodded tersely when Lucy tearfully thanked her for watching Johanna, and that night, when all she could hear was the sound of Lucy sobbing into her pillow, did she allow herself to really cry.

* * *

Mrs. Lovett looked up when the door to her shop opened, and her eyes narrowed when Lucy stepped inside. Her eyes were red, as usual—all that woman did was cry these days. 

"I have the rent, Mrs. Lovett," she said quietly, sounding as if she had a bad head cold.

"I'd prefer it if you could pay it on time," Mrs. Lovett said acidly, hand extended. Lucy set the money in her hand before clasping her own together in front of her.

"I'm sorry…it's just hard to make ends meet now, what with Benjamin—" Lucy gave a hiccup, her eyes closing, and two more tears trailed down her cheeks. Mrs. Lovett huffed irritably.

"Well, my husband's been gone for two years. I'm managin' quite nicely," she snapped, slapping the coins on the counter and returning to her baking.

"Mrs. Lovett, please—"

"_That_," Mrs. Lovett continued, leaning forward and sneering, "and I ain't been gettin' offers from no gentleman wot could set me up nicely with funds."

Mrs. Lovett smirked as Lucy's jaw unhinged slightly. "Mrs. Lovett—are you suggesting—"

"Well, why not?" She waved her hand. "You got a daughter to care for. Judge Turpin's affluent and high class. You owe me rent—he's eyein' you, you should just—"

"Mrs. Lovett." Mrs. Lovett was taken aback—Lucy's voice was uncharacteristically hard. "Judge Turpin had my husband arrested and convicted him of a crime he did not commit. I would rather be out on the streets than accept his offer."

Mrs. Lovett cut her eyes to the side, unable to look at Lucy for a moment—Lucy never spoke with such conviction and such venom. "I wasn't meanin' no harm—" she began, but Lucy cut her off.

"I know my husband will be back. This injustice will not go ignored—he _will_ come back to me. And I will be here, waiting for him. I love my husband, Mrs. Lovett. I love him far too much to give into the propositions of the very Judge who imprisoned him not three months after it happened." With a last hard, furious look, Lucy turned on her heel and swept from the shop (though not angry enough to slam the door, Mrs. Lovett noticed).

It took Mrs. Lovett a moment to realize that her hand was starting to ache from how tightly she was gripping the handle of the knife in her hand. Slowly relaxing her fingers, she glared pointlessly at the ceiling.

God, how she hated Lucy Carrington.

* * *

Staring out the door, Mrs. Lovett had been watching the street, waiting impatiently for Lucy to return. Johanna was in her arms, gurgling happily as she bounced the child. It had been hours—Lucy should have been back by now. It surely didn't take Turpin that long to apologize for sending her husband off on a trumped up charge… 

She grimaced as Johanna grabbed at the top of her dress, her chubby fingers clinging to anything they came in contact with. "Stop that," she muttered, prying the baby's fingers off of her dress. Johanna was so terribly grabby—just like her mother, she supposed, always hanging onto something or someone. And speaking of her mother, Lucy had better just return soon—Johanna would be getting hungry, and there wasn't a thing Mrs. Lovett could do about _that_.

"Jus' think, little girl," Mrs. Lovett said idly to Johanna, who blinked up at her with dark, solemn little eyes. "If things 'ad been a little difference, I could've been your mother. Wouldn't that 'ave been nice?" Mrs. Lovett couldn't help but smile with the baby giggled in response.

But then Lucy all but fell through the door, dress ripped and bloody, and the moment was ruined.

* * *

Mrs. Lovett banged on the door to what was now solely Lucy's abode, squinting through the glass. "I know you're in there, and you can't hide from me. You owe me rent!" 

She stepped back slightly when the door jerked abruptly open, and there stood Lucy, hair limp, eyes dark and dim. Without a word, the broken women shoved a mahogany and leather box into her landlady's hands.

"Sell them. I…I can't look at them any longer…with what happened…" she whispered, and then shut the door again.

Mrs. Lovett pursed her lips angrily, fingers tightening around the box. She looked down, snapping it open, and then her breath caught.

Benjamin's razors. Mrs. Lovett knew how much they were worth—they were silver, the real thing, and the work that had gone into them made them even more valuable. She slowly walked down the stairs, staring at the polished instruments that Benjamin had wielded so expertly and so carefully. His fingers had caressed those handles countless times, and never once had those blades nicked or cut a customer.

She slowly closed the box, glaring up at the upstairs room. Leave it to Lucy Carrington to pay her rent with something Mrs. Lovett couldn't sell.

* * *

She jerked awake—somebody was screaming. At first, she thought it was perhaps Johanna, but then realized it was not a baby's scream. No, that was Lucy. 

Throwing the threadbare blanket off of herself, she heaved herself out of bed, now hearing scuffling and footsteps above her, and discerned the occasional word from Lucy's hysterics. Now Johanna was screaming, too, as Mrs. Lovett threw on her dressing gown. The low thrum of men's voices sounded harshly, and Lucy's screams were silenced briefly when sharp crack of flesh on flesh echoed above her followed shortly by a loud thump of what could only be Lucy collapsing into a heap.

Sweeping out of her parlor, she looked outside of the shop just in time to see three men storming away and to a carriage, the wailing bundle of Johanna with them. Lucy was screaming again, screaming that they'd taken her, they'd taken her baby, now she had nothing, nothing, but Mrs. Lovett couldn't be worried with that right now—one of the men was coming towards the pie shop.

She wasn't sure why she did it—somehow, she just knew men unscrupulous enough to steal a baby would be cruel enough to steal other possessions. That, and they'd already seized all of Benjamin Barker's possessions. If they discovered that they'd missed one…

As the man banged on the door, she shoved the razors under her mattress. There was nothing she could do about them stealing Johanna, but the least she could do was save the razors.

* * *

Mrs. Lovett did not blink as the men she'd written to all but dragged Lucy to the dark, dirty carriage outside. Lucy was mumbling things, her eyes rolling, and hadn't stopped drooling all over herself—it was _pathetic_, in a word. Taking arsenic like that, just because life had taken a bad turn for her. And the turn was her fault to begin with—no, she'd stood all self-righteous and proud instead of being sensible, swallowing her pride, and accepting the Judge's offer. No one to blame but herself. 

The carriage door shut, and Mrs. Lovett finally turned, walking back to her bedroom. She silently pulled the razors from under her mattress, something she had not done since she'd crammed them under there a few months ago. Sighing, she exited the shop and slowly climbed the stairs, walking up to the now empty room above her pieshop—she'd already sold all of the furniture and Lucy's belongings but that crib (nobody had wanted it). Staring about the empty and cold room, she shivered a little but entered anyway, gripping the box of razors a little tighter.

She hadn't been able to get a good night's rest ever since they'd been in her room. She still wasn't sure why—well, she had an idea why. She wasn't superstitious, but somehow, those razors were not satisfied sleeping in her room. They wanted to go back home, but as long as Lucy had been up there, Mrs. Lovett had not been able to return them to their proper resting place.

But Lucy Carrington was now gone. The razors could go back upstairs. But they'd have to be hidden—they were very valuable, and Mrs. Lovett wasn't about to lose them.

She knew where that secret floorboard was—Benjamin and Lucy had thought it quite clever to keep their precious possessions under the short board near the window. Mrs. Lovett thought herself cleverer for finding them in the first place. Well, now it could serve its purpose once again. Slowly lifting the board, she wrapped the leather and wooden box in a piece of cloth before lowering it gently under the floorboards. She sealed it shortly afterwards, replacing the thin board and tapping it back into place.

Now the razors could sleep. And so could Mrs. Lovett.


End file.
